


and he carries the reminders

by Steerpike13713



Series: The Weasley Mob [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mob, Azkaban, F/M, Gen, Just Out Of Prison, Moral Ambiguity, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-31
Updated: 2016-10-31
Packaged: 2018-08-28 02:01:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8426551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Steerpike13713/pseuds/Steerpike13713
Summary: At sixteen, Harry Evans was caught in an illegal duelling pit, and sentenced to six months in Azkaban. Now he's out, and finds he's come back to a world where he no longer entirely fits, to rejoin the rest of the Weasley family and their continuing criminal operations throughout Tom Riddle's Britain, and to find a new place for him to fit.





	

Peterhead in August, grey and muggy and dispiriting at the best of times, and the best of times these weren’t. Normally, nothing would’ve compelled the man currently leaning against a turquoise Ford Anglia, a black dog sitting tamely by his side, to make the long journey north to Peterhead. Too long, too slow, too dangerous, particularly for the likes of him, for the sake of standing on this disused harbour just outside the city in the last grey hours before dawn, waiting for a ship to come in. But this was no ordinary day, and this ship carried no ordinary cargo.

The fog was so thick that morning he didn’t see the ship until it was almost close enough to dock, but he heard it, the piercing cry of the ship’s whistle through the mists, the splash of the waves against its hull, and the stench – most of all, the stench. It wasn’t anything clearly definable, a mixture of unwashed man, of piss and fear and desperation, of blood and pus and wounds left too long without being treated, and too many people packed into too tight a space. He didn’t know that stench, not intimately, but the dog at his side did, and it laid its ears flat against its shaggy head and whined piteously from the moment it caught that scent on the breeze. The man’s hand fell to its head, petting gently, but the whining didn’t subside until the ship had docked and a long gangplank was being let down to let out perhaps a dozen men and women, single-file, walking with their heads down, not looking to the left or to the right as they trooped down towards the shore. It was a pitiful sight, all told, all those people huddled into too-big clothes that had fitted them when they were put away, their hair buzzed off close against the lice that everyone caught inside, men and women alike, and more often than not there was blood there from where the barber’s hands had slipped. Still it wasn’t until the last man, a boy not even out of his teens, stepped off the boat that either man or dog showed any real interest in the proceedings, as the young man looked around, then grinned ruefully and loped over towards them, man and dog both starting forward to meet him, before the older man tugged the younger into a bone-cracking hug.

“Harry,” Remus Lupin said, holding Harry Evans at arm’s length to look him over. “It’s good to see you out.”

Evans grinned again, though the expression didn’t quite reach his eyes, “You too, Professor. And Snuffles, of course,” he added, making the dog wag its tail and butt its head into Evans’ palm. “How’re things with the Family? I haven’t heard much since I’ve been inside.”

“Well, I’d be surprised if you had,” Remus agreed, looking Evans over again. He’d had never had the look of a bruiser, even after years in the fighting pits, but he was scrawnier than ever now, too thin for Remus’ liking. His eyes, too, were different behind their round glasses, colder, more calculating than they had been. “Bill got put away three months after you did. Fleur’s been bearing up well enough, but Molly’s frantic. We were hoping you might’ve seen something in prison that would let you reassure them there.”

“I never saw him,” Evans said, “But I’ll do my best. And Ginny, is she-?”

Remus smiled at him, “I won’t say it wasn’t hard on her, but she’s well enough for now. I’m sure she’ll be delighted to see you back again.”

The black dog made a noise that would’ve been called a snicker coming from any human mouth, and got a glare from Evans for it, making Remus shake his head and hide a smile at the thought of another young man who’d done the same.

“Come on,” Remus said, steering Evans back towards the car, “You must be starving, let’s find somewhere to eat before we start south.”

“Mrs Weasley know you’re muscling in on her territory?” Evans asked, raising his eyebrows.

Remus smiled again. “I’m sure Molly won’t resent anyone else trying to help feed you up again. What would you like?”

“Egg and chips’d be nice,” Evans suggested, “I haven’t thought of anything else in six months, it feels like.”

Remus laughed. “Well, at least you’re not extravagant,” he said warmly. “Get in. I don’t want to deny Molly the chance to deplore how thin you are any longer than is absolutely necessary.”

They didn’t talk on the drive into town, as the grey streets of Peterhead passed by and Evans stared out of the window, craning his neck this way and that to try and take it all in. It must have been the first proper view he’d had in months, since before he was put away, since the trial, in the Ministry cells deep underground. Not until Remus had hustled Evans and the dog into a rundown old greasy spoon, the only place still open at this hour of the morning, and ordered a plate of egg and chips for Evans and two mugs of hot, strong tea. The tea arrived greyish and with an unpleasant-looking greasy film, the egg and chips more grease than sustenance, but Evans practically inhaled it.

“So, what now?” he asked, looking up at Remus from behind his round glasses.

Remus spread his hands in front of him. “What would you like to do? Molly wants to see you at the Burrow, but after that you’re welcome to stay with Sirius and I until you’re back on your feet.”

“Right. But…I can’t go back into the ring now, can I? I mean, not after…” he shook his head, running both hands over his shorn scalp. “No-one’s going to bet on a fighter who’s already got a record for match-fixing.”

“Arthur did have some plans about that,” Remus replied, with a thin smile. “They’re hardly going to turn you out over this. Ron and Ginny would never forgive them if they tried.”

Evans cracked a slight smile at that. “Yeah. But…I don’t exactly have that much. I mean, I’m good at duelling, but there’s only so much you can do with that.”

“I hardly think your options are as limited as that,” Remus pointed out. “You’re every bit as capable as Ron, and he seems to have found his niche.”

“I _had_ found mine,” Evans snapped. “I just can’t go _back_ to it!” he glared down at his plate, the same sullenly furious look on his face that he had worn when he left Hogwarts for the last time, only fourteen years old and knowing that he couldn’t come back. “I’d kill for a cigarette,” he muttered, with the desperate sullenness of someone trying and failing to avoid the subject.

“Here,” Remus offered, producing a pack of fire-cured from his pocket and holding them out to Evans, who gave him a wan smile.

“Sirius’s?” he asked, “He’s the only person I know who actually likes these things.” The dog whined from underneath the table, and Evans grinned and ruffled its ears affectionately. “No offence, Snuffles.” He took one, but his hands were shaking too hard to light it, so Remus did it for him and watched Evans’ face relax as he took a long, deep drag. “Mrs Weasley’s got plans for me, then?”

Remus smiled, “She thinks you might do well, yes. Your particular skills do lend themselves to rather a lot of things in this line of work.”

Evans grimaced. “I’m a prize-fighter. Not even a very _good_ prize-fighter.” He huddled into his jacket. “That’s not something I can use anywhere else.”

“Not necessarily,” Remus replied, giving him a sidelong look. “Molly and Arthur have been having problems with the Knights of Walpurgis recently.”

“The Death Eaters?” Evans asked, glancing up. “What’ve they been doing?”

Remus gave him a thin, mirthless smile. “Their attacks on Muggle-born areas have been growing more frequent since Bill was arrested. Molly thought you might be willing to step in and offer them some…protection from these attacks.”

Evans’ eyes hardened behind his glasses, “If that’s all, then I’m in,” he said harshly.

Remus’ smile widened into something altogether warmer, “I’m sure Molly will be delighted to hear it,” he glanced around at the till, and rose to his feet, “Stay and keep an eye on Snuffles for me, I’ll get the bill.”

“You don’t have to-” Evans mumbled, and then, “I’ll pay you back. Sorry.”

“Merlin’s beard, Harry, there’s no need for that.” Remus said, raising his eyebrows, “We’re well enough off for the time being, with the number of commissions Molly and Arthur have been bringing us lately.”

Evans winced, and stared down at his boots. “Looks like I’ll be relying on that too. No-one’s going to hire a mudblood straight out of Azkaban.”

“I told you,” Remus said sharply, “Molly and Arthur have plans. You’ll not be short of work.”

The car journey down was quiet, the flying Ford Anglia covering the distance far faster than it had any right to. Evans mostly dozed in his seat, his eyes moving fitfully beneath their lids. No-one ever slept well in Azkaban, Remus knew. The Dementors and the cold and the wet put paid to that. So did the screaming. Evans had been in for six months, and already his sleep was uneasy as he twitched and muttered to himself, pleas and curses and half-remembered horrors from the dark. In the back, Sirius slept too, still in dog form, just in case the worst happened and they were forced down again.

It was afternoon when they reached Devon, and Evans was jolted awake as the car hit the ground again outside the village of Ottery Saint Catchpole.

“We’re there, then?” he said, leaning out of the window to look and not looking away for a moment, drinking it all in.

Remus smiled, “Nearly,” he promised, as Evans blinked the last of the sleep from his eyes. They sailed through the village, hardly slowing down, and off the main road, leading them slowly towards the house at the crest of the hill. It looked as though it might have started life as a large stone pigsty, added to until it was several storeys high and so crooked it might well have been magic alone that kept it standing. If that _had_ been how it had started, though, the family that lived there had certainly come up in the world since then. Nothing too obvious, nothing you could put your finger on, but you could stake your life that everything that had needed replacing had been, everything that had wanted repair was whole and gleaming, and it had been a long, long time since anything but habit had made Molly Weasley darn socks.

The car purred to a halt and Evans got out, only to be almost immediately greeted by a loud shriek from inside the house and almost bowled over as his vision was obscured by a large quantity of very bushy hair.

“HARRY! Ron, he’s here, Harry’s here! Oh, how _are_ you? You look awful. I know they wouldn’t let us send anything, but I didn’t think they’d starve you as well as letting the Dementors at you. Are you angry? I bet you are, I would be too, we’ve been worse than useless, and Mum and Dad wouldn’t even let me come for the trial-”

“Let him breathe, Hermione!” Ron cut in, grinning at him from over her shoulder, “Good to see you, mate.”

“You too,” Evans said, hugging Hermione back fast and hard before releasing her, “I’m all right, really. How’ve things been here? I see you managed to get permission to associate with us lowlifes again,” he added, nodding at Hermione.

She nodded back with a scowl, “Mum and Dad don’t like it, but…well, I was able to convince them that they were only blaming you because you were Muggle-born. It’s not _really_ a lie, is it? I mean…that was the start of it all, wasn’t it?”

“You mean aside from all the other stuff we’ve done to piss Riddle off?” Ron said, grinning.

Evans laughed, but Hermione didn’t.

“Hi, Harry,” said another voice, and Evans stepped back. A sort of change came over him. He scuffed his shoe nervously in the dust, staring down at his battered boots.

“Hello, Ginny,” he said, not meeting Ginny Weasley’s eyes. There was a long, awkward silence.

Finally, Mrs Weasley cleared her throat – she must have followed Ginny out of the house – and said, rather nervously, “Why don’t you come in, Harry? You made good time, we weren’t expecting you until this evening!”

“Professor didn’t want to wait,” Evans muttered, “Thanks, Mrs Weasley.”

Mrs Weasley beamed at him, “Oh, it’s so _good_ to have you back,” she said warmly, and hugged him, hard. “Of course, we’ll need to discuss business later, but that can wait until after you’ve eaten – I’m sure I don’t know why they don’t feed you in there – as if the Dementors weren’t punishment enough!” She was wringing her hands now, and there was something pained in her eyes – was she thinking about Bill, still in Azkaban?

“I didn’t see him,” Evans admitted in a low voice, “I didn’t even know Bill’d been arrested ‘til the Professor told me. I’m sorry.”

Mrs Weasley’s smile dimmed slightly, “Not your fault, dear,” she replied, sounding rather tired. “Do come in – we hadn’t quite finished getting ready, I hope you don’t mind.”

“It’s fine,” Evans said quickly, “Really, you didn’t have to go to all this trouble…” His eyes darted restlessly, his fingers twitching at his side.

“Don’t crowd him, Molly,” Sirius said from behind him. Evans started – he hadn’t seen Sirius transform. “After Azkaban, that’s the last thing he needs.”

Mrs Weasley glared at Sirius, “I’m not trying to _crowd_ him, Sirius, but the last thing anyone needs after six months in that place is to be left on their own. Arthur was a complete wreck when he got out the first time, I remember – Harry, sit down, you look dead on your feet. We’ve got Percy’s old room all ready for you if you need to lie down at all.”

“All respect to Arthur,” Sirius gritted out, “But not everyone’s taken the same way. Remus already offered to let him stay with us, if he needs it.”

Mrs Weasley gave a rather forced smile, “Well, I’m sure that was very good of you, Sirius, but are you sure you have the room for him? We don’t mind putting Harry up here, you know.”

Evans caught Ron’s eye, and followed him inside, leaving Mrs Weasley and Sirius to argue outside. Inside, the occupants of the Burrow’s meteoric rise in fortunes was more obvious, at least to the trained eye, and Evans had done his turn at housebreaking when he was still small enough to be used as a snakesman. They used house-elves for that sort of thing now, but some tricks never left you, and valuing a house was one of them. There was real silver laid on that table now, the coats on the rack by the door were thick, good-quality wool, tightly-woven and charmed against the rain, and five years ago, when Evans had first visited the Burrow, you’d never have seen a house-elf inside a mile of the place, let alone two – Dobby and Winky, who had come to the Weasleys before Evans was out of Hogwarts, through varied and disreputable means.

“You really didn’t hear anything about Bill, then?” Ron asked, looking worried.

Evans glared at him, “I got one cell hardly big enough to lie down in, and bars at the door. They don’t let you get out and socialise in Azkaban, Ron.”

“I know, I just…thought you might’ve seen him. Had him dragged past your cell, maybe?”

Evans snorted. He had sat down, but he pushed himself to his feet again. He wanted to pace – he couldn’t pace in Azkaban. He wanted to pace, and to lie down properly, stretch his arms above his head and his legs as far as they would go, and to go for a drink or three. Butterbeer, or firewhisky, something to warm him up from the inside. He was abruptly ravenous, the egg and chips he’d had in Peterhead seeming a distant memory now, with the smell of Molly Weasley’s cooking coming through from the kitchen, and everything in him that felt as if it had died in that cell seeming to stir guiltily, scenting the air. Food, and drink, and rest, and he’d feel very nearly human again. After that…well, he’d have to see.

The others watched him, a little anxiously. He’d been expecting that – everyone he’d been friendly with at Hogwarts had been a little strange around him ever since he left school. Ginny was the only one who didn’t seem at least a little bit nervous around him now. He didn’t know why Ron was, or Hermione, but where the thought had made him uncomfortable a year ago, now it filled him with a sort of harsh satisfaction. He couldn’t hide it now, what he’d become. He didn’t want to, and that was the strangest thing. His face felt like an ill-fitting mask now, trying to form expressions that no longer felt properly his, and he didn’t know why no-one else seemed to have noticed.

“I haven’t seen anyone,” he said dully, “You don’t, in Azkaban. Or if you do, you don’t notice. After a while it gets difficult to tell what’s real and what isn’t.”

He’d heard his mum screaming the whole first month he’d been there. Every night, he’d heard her, and his granddad. The Death Eaters had killed him quicker than they had her, but Evans had heard him all the same, in the darkness of his cell.

There was a long, painful silence, a silence with words in it that all of them heard and none of them said.

“Harry,” Hermione said, gently and cautiously, “Are you- Are you all right?”

Evans shook his head. He didn’t want to look at her. “Fine,” he lied. All at once, the small gathering in the Weasleys’ living-room seemed too much, too crowded. It felt as if there was too much in Evans, and only his skin was stopping him from flying every which way. He felt keyed-up and edgy, he wanted something to do, someone to fight.

“Look, mate-” Ron started, and Evans rounded on him.

“I _said_ I was fine!” he snarled, “I’m not- I’m not some sort of weakling you have to protect! I managed all right on my own all of last year, didn’t I? I don’t need Ron bloody Weasley to keep me out of trouble, and even if I did, _you’ll_ just be going straight back to Hogwarts at the end of the month anyway!”

“Harry, Harry,” Hermione said, sounding anxious. She was afraid of him, Evans realised, with an awful little shock of something ugly in the pit of his stomach.

“You won’t even _look_ at me!” he snapped, “You’ve been behaving oddly ever since I started in the pits – you – you’re _afraid_ of me? What did I ever to do to make you think I’d hurt you?”

“Harry, no- It’s not like-”

“And here you all are, acting like- Like there’s something _wrong_ with me because I got sent to Azkaban at all! As if we wouldn’t _all_ be in there now if the Ministry had its way! You really think they’re going to turn a blind eye to a bit of potions-running just because you’re being good and trying to fit in the Muggle world the rest of the time? The only reason Ron wasn’t in there with me was that he’s pure-blood and not even out of Hogwarts yet!”

‘Boys will be boys’ was the phrase the Magical Law-Enforcement Squad officer had used, Evans had heard it, locked up in the cells as he had been, but not entirely out of earshot. Arthur Weasley had tried to get Harry out too, but funnily enough it didn’t count as just boys being boys if your mum had been Muggle-born and your dad had died in Azkaban.

“We don’t think there’s anything wrong with you!” Ron retorted, sounding furious and confused and just…so fucking _fine_ , and Evans just couldn’t take it. Why should Ron and Hermione be here, not knowing, safely ignorant of everything that- everything he’s- And he didn’t want them hurt, that was the last thing he ever wanted, but why should he be the only one who’d taken the ultimate risk for the Family and yet he was still the one who putthat odd, suspicious look in his friends’ eyes.

“I’m going up to bed,” he said moodily, shrugging off Ron’s hand on his shoulder.

Hermione and Ron exchanged a worried look, and Evans felt his temper boiling over and stormed off upstairs before he said anything else that he’d regret later. Percy’s room was dark and quiet – Mrs Weasley had drawn the curtains, and it was difficult to make out more than the shapes of bare furniture, where all Percy’s things had been moved out two years ago. Percy Weasley was living in London now, working for someone or other as a bookkeeper since the Ministry wouldn’t take him. He hadn’t been home since he’d left Hogwarts, and most of the Weasleys’ operation was reasonably sure that he’d be coming home feet-first in a wooden box or not at all.

Evans threw himself down on the bed, scowling at the ceiling. A month ago, he would have given anything to be here, at the Burrow, with Ron and Hermione and all the rest of the Family. Now, though, he found himself wishing for his poky little room in the Muggle-born labourers’ quarters just off Diagon Alley, which he’d shared with another Muggle-born a few years older than him, who hadn’t known anything about Evans and wouldn’t have cared if he did. Not that he had any claim on that room any longer, it would likely have been assigned to someone else in his absence. He hadn’t expected that that would hurt. He’d hated the place when he’d been forced to stay there, hated having to keep his possessions under lock and key, hated the way the rent ate up so much of his meagre legitimate pay that he could hardly spend his winnings without bringing down suspicion on his head. Now…he wanted to be somewhere where no-one cared about him, where no-one knew about him, he wanted time to drown out the tumult in his brain, as every feeling that had been drowned out and forced down in Azkaban came rushing back.

He didn’t know when he fell asleep, and his fuming slid slowly into uneasy dreams, only that when he woke, the light outside was different. Not dark – it was high summer still, after all –  but dimmer, probably nearing sunset. It had been a knock on the door that roused him, and as he blinked awake, he saw Ginny standing in the doorway with a bowl in her hands.

“Mum sent me,” she said quietly, coming to sit down at the end of his bed and setting the tray on the bedside table. “It’s just soup. Apparently you won’t be able to stomach much for a few weeks, until you get used to being on the outside again.”

Evans pushed himself upright, and took the bowl of soup in both hands. His hands were shaking slightly as he took one cautious sip and looked over at Ginny out of the corner of his eye, his heart in his throat. It was _stupid_ , he told himself firmly. They’d never been more than casually involved, because he was the only one who wasn’t scared witless of what Ginny’s brothers would do to anyone they disapproved of. Ginny had every right to find someone else while he was inside, someone she could have a real life with, not just sneaking around and trying to avoid anyone she knew from Hogwarts seeing them together. They’d probably still be good friends, even if the thought of seeing Ginny with another Michael Corner or Dean Thomas made something in Evans’ chest twist painfully.

“I’d want some peace and quiet too, if it were me,” Ginny said, giving him an odd, sideways look.

He shook his head, “It’s stupid,” he muttered, “In Azkaban all I wanted was to be back here with you and Ron and Hermione. Now I’m out…” he trailed off. How could he describe it to her, how it felt? Not Azkaban itself, but coming out, and all the things you had thought you would never feel again reasserting themselves with a vengeance. He mopped at the bottom of the bowl with a hank of bread, to give his hands something to do, and so he didn’t have to look at her. He’d just put the empty bowl aside when Ginny did something very unexpected. She came closer, slowly enough that he could push her away if he wanted, and settled herself next to him, her knee thrown over his, her arms wound loosely around him so that he could rest his head against her shoulder and breathe in the scent of her, his nose just brushing at her throat. He awkwardly returned the embrace, not quite wanting to breathe. This was real, his fingers told him, even if his mind couldn’t yet believe it.

“It must have been awful,” Ginny said in a low voice, “I still remember how the Dementors took you after Sirius got out.”

Evans’ grip on her tightened. “Every night I was in there, I heard them,” he mumbled against her collarbone. “After a while I didn’t know how much of the screaming was real and how much was just in my head. My dad died in there, and for a while it felt like I was going to go the same way.”

Bill was in there now, he remembered. Ginny had to be thinking the same thing, but she didn’t say it. They lay there for a little while, as the sun slid down the sky outside, until it was true dark, and neither of them could see each other’s faces.

“I didn’t ask,” Evans said awkwardly, “Are we still- I wouldn’t cause trouble if you had found someone else while I was-”

Ginny snorted. “As if I could,” she said, and then, in a rush. “I always did like you, you know. Hermione told me to get on with life, maybe go out with some other people, relax a bit around you, because I never used to be able to talk if you were in the room, remember? And she thought you might take a bit more notice if I was a bit more – myself.”

“Smart girl, that Hermione,” said Evans, trying to smile. “Is this- Are you saying-” he broke off again, suddenly awkward.

Ginny nodded, her head jarring against his. “I think I am,” she said. “I know we haven’t talked about it, but...”

“Good,” Evans said firmly, tangling his legs with hers. Ginny’s hair fell into his face, tickling against his neck, and he could feel her breathing against his side.

It was past midnight before Evans woke up again. He thought that Mrs Weasley might have come to look in on them at some point – he had a vague, drowsy memory of the door sliding open again to reveal a thin strip of golden light, and a shadow at the door – but now the house was dark and silent except for Ginny’s snuffling snores at his side. They had rolled apart at some point in the night, so that she had her back to him, a darker shadow against the night.

He was on his way back from the bathroom when he heard the voices downstairs.

“-which places did they do?”

“Jones’ Apothecary, Wilson’s betting shop, the Cresswells’ place,” Molly Weasley said, sounding worried. “All the places that pay us for protection. And, of course, with Bill gone…of course, we do have other people, but Ministry raids have hit us hard this month, and there were just too many of them…”

“Harry could do it, I suppose?” That was Arthur Weasley. His voice was mild, questioning.

Evans took a few steps down the stairs, his ears pricked.

“Only if he agrees to it, Arthur – you know he might not want-” Mrs Weasley’s voice fell, so that Evans couldn’t hear the words, and then rose again. “Anyway,” she added fiercely, “We are going to have to offer a bit of money to the families, since we failed to protect them this time.”

Evans moved a bit further, and the stair creaked. The voices downstairs went silent.

“Harry?” Mrs Weasley called cautiously, “Is that you, dear?”

Evans nodded, then remembered she couldn’t see him and called back. “Yes, Mrs Weasley.”

Molly Weasley appeared at the foot of the stairs, wrapped in a new quilted dressing-gown and looking harried. “I didn’t think you were still awake,” she said. “I looked in on you earlier, but you were still asleep. Are you hungry, dear.”

Evans shook his head. “Remus said you wanted to bring me in on the protection racket,” he said, looking down at her from the head of the stairs. “Was that what you meant?”

Mrs Weasley looked pained for a moment, and said. “You’d better come down, Harry. We can talk about this in the kitchen.”

They ended up sitting around the Weasleys’ kitchen table, Evans looking over at Arthur and Molly Weasley from over a glass of Mr Weasley’s best firewhisky. He thought he would have done anything for them, now. Azkaban had done for the last of his scruples, and the Weasleys were the nearest thing to family he had left in the world.

“The thing is, Harry,” Mr Weasley said kindly, “That you are…well, rather young for this whole business, and we wouldn’t normally ask this of you, except that you did so well in the fighting-pits. Even with the fixed fights, to have lasted that long in the pits is no small achievement. So, we were hoping you’d agree to the…ah…the other part of the protection racket.”

“The other part?” Evans asked, leaning forwards.

Mrs Weasley’s lips went thin. “The Knights of Walpurgis attacked our people,” she said, rather stiffly. “People will want some sort of reassurance that it won’t happen again. We’ve been able to at least find out who the ringleader of these attacks was.”

“Great,” said Evans, “Who is it?”

“Lucius Malfoy,” Mr Weasley said, looking disgusted. “Not an easy man to get to in the usual way…” Bribery, that meant, or blackmail, because while the Malfoys had any number of dirty little secrets to conceal, those secrets would have little impact on the circles in which they moved. “So, we were wondering if you would be willing to assist with something that should convince him to leave our businesses alone in future.”

Evans had to wonder what it was they wanted him to do that took this much build-up. “Of course,” he said. “What do you want me to do?”

“You knew Draco Malfoy at Hogwarts, didn’t you?” Mr Weasley said, “What did you think of him?”

Evans thought back, to a ferrety-looking boy with white-blonde hair and a supercilious expression. “You want me to go and rough him up?”

“Broadly, yes,” Mr Weasley agreed, “We considered kidnapping, for a while, but from how Ron described young Malfoy, we weren’t sure if Lucius would want him back.”

That was, so far as Evans was concerned, giving Lucius Malfoy far too much credit, but…well, it wasn’t as if he _wanted_ to be involved with kidnapping Malfoy’s son. For one thing, that would mean that Harry would be stuck keeping an eye on him. But one survivable beating, well, that was different. Harry had wanted to hex Draco Malfoy almost since the moment they’d met on the Hogwarts Express, and it was less by far than Harry had got for something far less serious.

He drained the firewhisky in one, and looked back at the Weasleys. “You can count on me.”


End file.
